kool g rap and dj polo - fuck u man. lyrics
[chorus from “talk like s-x” begins] (“can ya dig it honey…?”)
since i made the record “talk like s-x,”
b-tches are comin’ up with their friends for a n-gg- to hit the skins.
hopin’ the kool g rap was just makin’ rhymes,
but i’m leavin’ b-tches’ v-g-n-s with more st-tches than frankenstein.
some even had the nerve to try to give me head,
and swallow the whole jimmy to make a n-gg- fed.
but come on you b-tches, don’t make me laugh;
you couldn’t deep throat g rap if you was a motherf-ckin’ giraffe.
dag, some even fled when they saw the head,
’cause g’s d-ck would make you seasick f-ckin’ me in a waterbed.
don’t try to paly me like no sucker,
’cause these b-tches’ll be callin’ up dial-a-mattress like a motherf-cker.
you heard the song before; you don’t wanna see me,
“i’ll f-ck you on the a-train while i write graffiti.”
i’ll even f-ck you in a taxi cab,
and after s-x with a n-gg- you’ll be buyin’ a box of maxi-pads.
soon as you open your legs,
no need for no birth control, b-tch, ’cause my d-ck is touchin’ the eggs.
kool g rap, the p-ssy slammer;
h-ll, i’d be talkin’ f-cked up grammar if you was bad mamma jamma.
i ain’t small, i’ll have you c-mmin’ like waterfalls,
and then turn them sugar walls into carnegie hall.
leavin’ my mark on b-tches like zorro,
plus f-ckin’ b-tches so def like there won’t be no p-ssy left tomorrow.
hittin’ hoes like it ain’t funny,
i think about bowls of cheerios because i want my nuts and honey.
talkin’ to all the women that look fine,
pretendin’ my pr-ck was moby d-ck and have a whale of a time.
now i’m not a deep-sea diver,
but i love it when my d-ck’s covered and smothered with saliva.
sh-t, might even straighten out your dentures,
because it’s not just a bl-w j-b, honey, it’s an adventure.
but 69, and i ain’t with that:
i’ll go to a chinese restaurant, b-tch, if i wanna eat cats.
because you gotta be brave to eat the tuna, g.
so when it comes to p-ssy-lickin’, i’m the chicken of the sea.
i should be on the s-x channel;
not a chump ’cause i’m givin’ punk-b-tches better humps than camels.
if you’re a virgin, i’ll make it fit,
because my d-ck’ll pop the cherry and spit out the f-ckin’ pit.
and if you’re concerned, my sperm don’t burn,
and if it did, i’d give that nappy-headed -ss a f-ckin’ perm.
shucks, i instruct a f-ckin’ lesson.
you think it’s painless? i hit the -n-s and f-ck up your large intestines.
leavin’ you b-tches stingin’ from the bangin’;
my man jimmy got a hole in his head, but yo, that n-gg-‘s still hangin’.
b-tch, you’d rather hump a f-ckin’ whole army,
’cause even the witness protection program couldn’t hide this man’s salami.
you f-ck around and catch a seizure,
before i f-ck a hoe i gots ta put the hooker under anesthesia.
lettin’ saliva dribble on your nipple,
-rg-sms double and triple sit ripple and turn your -ss into a gripple.
then i see you searchin’ for the swellin’,
’cause i’m-a leave a hole so big your gynecologist might fall the h-ll in.
got d-mn! i hit the ham right;
honeybuns, you can ask my three sons, i got the d-ck right out the van dyk-.
i’m f-ckin’ naked girls with fly rhymes,
but don’t push me, because that p-ssy will be runnin’ for it’s nine lives.
i know you hookers can’t refuse this,
but don’t’ pick me to give no hickeys ’cause i’m givin’ b-tches bruises.
yeah, i’ll tear that p-ssy hole apart,
for f-ckin’ with g rap after dark, you’d rather jog in central park.
so if you want kids before i f-ck ya,
look at the size of my d-ck, and you’ll let out the motherf-ckers.
sh-t, b-tches get open like a can;
just leave it up to g rap, ’cause i’m the neighborhood f-ck u man…
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